SCANDAL!
by Grey Blade
Summary: My name is Samantha Witwicky, journalist extraordinaire, and this is my story. Read it coz' you know it's epic. Come on. You know you want to...


**Disclaimer: The name Sam Witwicky doesn't belong to me, it belongs to the creator of Transformers, if ever they did include him. If not, then it belongs to Steven Spielberg or Michael Bay who did an awesome job with the directing. And DUH Narnia world doesn't belong to me.  
For now the only thing that I belong is Samantha Witwicky, her nephew and niece and Hannah Witwicky.**

_**Manhattan, 2008**_

Samantha Witwicky was always a strange character. It was a wonder none of her relatives still hasn't sent her to a mental asylum. Even before that day she went to her cousin's mother's friend's sister's teacher, Professor Kirke's house to take pictures of his artifacts, people regarded her with distaste.

She had always fancied herself a journalist extraordinaire, for one thing. It still hadn't gotten into her brain that the only thing she's done that was in the newspaper was a reference photo of a reference photo of a billboard article on the fourth page of the Times. And another thing about her was her name. Poor girl had to get named after that guy in that movie by Spielberg. Why she was proud of it was still a mystery. And the most annoying thing about her was that she had two favorite words. _Epic, _which she used to describe anything, and _scandal_ which she screamed out every two seconds.

But though that was the most annoying, the strangest thing about her was her uncanny imagination. It burst out that one day she decided to visit the deceased Professor Kirke's house. Closet's leading to magical lands where fish can talk and trees have legs and where crossbows were the coolest thing in the history of weaponry? Please. In this age, that was layman's symptoms for 'crazy'. Well, this _is _Sam Witwicky we're talking about. She insisted on its truth and even said she's taken pictures of it. She showed the photos to many a bewildered stranger and all showed cut-off heads, dark scenery, limbs, grass, oddly shaped trees, more grass. I'm sure you'd all know an amateur's photo when you see one. Well, there was this one picture of Tilda Swinton playing with ice, but that didn't account for much.

This whole 'Narnia' fiasco started 20 years ago when Samantha Witwicky was still 15. As said before, she went to Professor Kirke's mansion, took pictures, crashed inside his wardrobe, crashed outside three seconds later saying she had a telepathic link with fish and has made her debut as a journalist. Her sister was outside the wardrobe the whole time and wondered what happened. When she took a peek of her own inside, there was no fish and no journalism opportunity for her older sister…unless you considered the green peas rolling around on the wardrobe floor.

Well, despite that, Sam was proud of that moment. And ever since then she's been shoving her pictures at everyone's faces and telling her quote-"incredible loveless journey of love, bravery, adventure and the loss of innocence where everything I knew was about to change"-unquote.

And now, it was her nephew and niece's turn to be punished.

"Okay, so I was there…inside the room…opening the door…"

"How can you be opening the door when you're already inside?" Her nephew asked.

"You weren't there. So anyways-"

"Didn't you already tell this story to us, like, seven times?" This time it was her niece.

"The suspense gets better each time. Be quiet. Shut up. This is a once in a lifetime chance for you. So anyways, as I was saying…"

The two teenagers just groaned.

&

So anyways I was inside…opening the door…. And lo and behold!-

&

"No one says that anymore, auntie."

&

There was a wardrobe! I know! Epic right? And Hannah was right behind me, telling me that I was going to get into trouble again, but a good journalist knows no fear. So in I went to the room-stop interrupting I know I'm inside already. So I was inside the room and decided to open the closet. Why? Because I was curious. Because I was a journalist.

What secrets did Professor Diggory Kirke hold inside his wardrobe? Did he hide dead bodies? Was there actually a secret entrance leading to a laboratory? Was he a closet pervert that stole a wardrobe from a girl's bedroom? Did he prefer polyester or leather? Only a journalist could find out. I knew there was something inside that wardrobe worth looking into and I, Samantha Finch Witwicky, was going to find out, or die trying!

"You're being melodramatic, Sam!" Hannah whined exasperated. "It's a closet. What is there to find in a closet?"

Oh, if only she knew what she was asking at the time.

I decided to ignore her and started creeping forward towards the wardrobe, camera in hand, with all the stealth of a ninja.

"Oh gee, Sam. Who are you hiding from? The window?" My little sister could never understand the trials and hardships a journalist always endures. Her statement wasn't worth replying to.

I brought my index finger to my lips and _shushed_. I then started to slowly walk forward again. Aside from the very loud, multiple creaking the floorboards did, I did a good job of reaching the wardrobe undetected. I opened the double doors with suspense brimming within me. It was a hard thing to keep contained but I managed.

I opened it and immediately saw…GASP…a rack of fur coats.

My sister was behind me, being smug. "See? Just a bunch of coats. So can we go now?"

"Ah, ah, ah, Hannah," I chided, turning around. "Don't you know that this is exactly what a person would do when hiding something? You need a cover-up for something epic."

And just seeing these coats was already a story in itself. Diggory Kirke? Animal abuser? Fur wearer. It was simply appalling. But as I said to Hannah, there was something more.

So I went in. But, unfortunately, I tripped on the edge of the wardrobe floor. You know that sickening feeling of surprise when you're falling? Yeah that. It was sadistic, really. My instincts kicked in and I grabbed the two doors behind me. But they just swung on their hinges and did nothing to help. They closed behind me with a resounding bang as I rolled on the floor, getting tangled with a few coats in the process.

So I was rolling, epically, of course. But it hurt coz' I had to protect my camera in the process, and also my glasses considering they cost a lot of money despite the fact that they were decorative. Anyways, as I was saying, I was rolling…rolling…rolling…wondering how much space a wardrobe can have for me to roll in…rolling…rolling…

Then I stopped. And for about three seconds I wondered why the wardrobe felt soft and squishy and so unbearably bright. Afterwards I remembered nothing, except for the fleeting image of a small forest clearing with an out-of-place lantern in the center.

**Might finish this, might not. Sorry if I don't. I mean, I definitely **_**will **_**finish this, but the thing is it might take forever to do so. This was just an idea after watching Prince Caspian, and seeing as I have my hands full with fanfictions already, I decided to ignore it. But it was too good I thought I'd write just one chapter and that would be it. But it just kept coming at me that I didn't know what to do with it so in the end I succumbed and posted it. That's just weak, Blade, weak. Any type of review is acceptable. Praise, flames and constructive criticism, although there is a high chance that flames will be laughed at.**

**Please, please, PLEASE point out typos.**


End file.
